


Mycroft's Rules

by AnneElliot



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Cancer, Canonical death of character, Childhood, Death of OC, Drug Use, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, IRA bombings, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Other, Suicide, drug overdose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-12 12:32:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2110071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnneElliot/pseuds/AnneElliot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“All lives end. All hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock.” </p><p>How did Mycroft learn this?</p><p>Formerly "The Making of Mycroft."  I always hated that title.  Still in the market for a better one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. All Lives End.

**Author's Note:**

> I usually go for humour, but this story won't let go of me. Writing it down to get it out. But it's sad.
> 
> Not beta-d or Brit-picked so let me know of any errors.

**1978**

The first person Mycroft told was Mrs. Berry.  “Mummy’s pregnant again,” he announced between slices of apple. He loved it when Mrs. Berry made Eve’s pudding because he got to help by eating any of the apple slices that weren’t quite thin enough.  Sometimes, if he were good, he got to stir the sponge.

 “Did she tell you that?” asked Mrs. Berry as her knife lifted perfect spirals of peel from the apple. 

 “No, I dedu’ded, Dee – duusd it,” Mycroft said.  He stuck his tongue where his missing front tooth belonged to see if there was any sign of a new one.

 Mrs. Berry handed him another slice of apple.  “Eat that one for me, Myc, there’s a love.  Would you like a baby brother or sister?”

 Mycroft considered carefully.  Mrs. Berry was usually the only one who asked him about feelings.  Mummy taught him math and logic.  Daddy taught him about bodies – how they work and what they look like when they don’t work.  Mrs. Berry talked about feelings like they were as important as math or biology.  She also told him to be careful who he told his deductions to.  But he was allowed to tell her anything.

 “I think I would like a baby brother,” he decided. “I hate when Mummy is sad and when she miscarries, she is sad.”  He was proud he got through that sentence with no lisp.  It took a lot of concentration but lisping made people think he was STUPID.  “I could teach a little brother to deduce and we could play games.  I would still be the smartest, though.”

 “How do you know about miscarriages, Myc?” asked Mrs. Berry. 

 “Daddy told me when I asked him about Mummy’s symptoms.  He said to be careful who I talk to about it, though.  Most adults think children shouldn’t know anything.”

 “You do know that a baby brother wouldn’t be able to play with you for a long time, don’t you?  Here, this is the last piece of apple.  I don’t need it.”  She put down the knife and stood to get the bowl to start the sponge.  She pressed her hand to her abdomen as she stood.

“Of course, I’m not STUPID.  He would be like a puppy or a kitten.  Except his eyes would be open when he’s born.  Daddy told me.  I like to play with the barn kittens when we go to the country. Do you think I could have a puppy?”

“A puppy wouldn’t be happy in this flat, Myc dear.  They need lots of space to run and play outside.  And I’m allergic to dogs so I would have to move out.”

Mycroft looked up in alarm.  He jumped up and threw his arms around Mrs. Berry.  “You can’t leave, Mrs. Berry.  I don’t want a puppy if you would have to leave.  Stay here, pleathe.”

Mrs. Berry bent down and hugged him.  “Of course, I’m staying.  I love you, Myc. I didn’t mean to scare you.  Maybe you can get a puppy to share with Mr. and Mrs. Findley.  You could play with it when you stay in the country.”

Mycroft sighed. “Maybe.  Can I help stir the sponge?”

Mrs. Berry chuckled.  “Of course you can.  Let’s get it started.”

 

The next day, Daddy took Mycroft to the country house for a month.  There were puppies and kittens and lambs.  Daddy showed Mycroft how to do an autopsy on a lamb that died.  They found out its heart and its lungs weren’t connected right.  His front teeth came in so he didn’t have to worry about lisping.  He had so much to tell Mrs. Berry and Mummy when they got back to the flat. 

The day before they went back to the flat, Daddy told Mycroft that Mummy was going to have a baby.  Mycroft tried to pretend he was surprised, but Daddy could tell that he deduced it.  He explained that Mummy was going to stay in bed most of the time until the baby was born to give the baby a better chance.  “You will have to help, Mycroft.  Mummy’s tired and bored, so you can help keep her entertained by doing math games, but only when she’s not sleepy, alright?”

“I promise, Daddy.”

When they got back to the flat, Daddy asked Mycroft to go check on Mrs. Berry while Daddy checked on Mummy.  Mycroft ran to the kitchen for a big hug from Mrs. Berry.

“Myc, look at you,” she cried.  “I think you’ve grown.  And new teeth!  I baked some biscuits for you.  Have one and tell me about it.  Did you have fun?”

Mycroft settled in to eat biscuits and tell Mrs. Berry everything.  But he was distracted by the changes in Mrs. Berry.  Adults didn’t change much.  Children grew but adults just stayed the same, mostly.  Daddy came in after about half an hour.  “Mummy’s sleeping,” he told Mycroft.  “You can see her when she wakes up.  Yum, biscuits.  Thank you, Mrs. Berry.”  He sat at the table with Mycroft and reached for a biscuit.

 “Daddy, is Mrs. Berry sick?” asked Mycroft.  Mrs. Berry and Daddy both looked at him, puzzled.  “Why do you ask?” Mrs. Berry wanted to know.

 “Usually grown-ups don’t change much.  But you’re different since we left.”

 “Different how?”  asked Daddy.  “What symptoms do you see?”

 “Mrs. Berry’s lost weight, but her abdomen is swollen.  She keeps putting her hand on it like it hurts, and she’s gone to the loo twice since we’ve been home.”

 Daddy looked carefully at Mrs. Berry.  “Are you feeling all right?”

 Mrs. Berry tossed her head, “I’m fine, really, Dr. Holmes.  Just been a touch gassy lately, I think.  And it’s natural I’m losing weight when I’m only cooking for Mrs. Holmes.  Now that I have you two to cook for, it’ll soon be back, I’m sure.”

 “Just the same, Mrs. Berry, I’ll feel better if you let me get you checked out.  I’ll run you over to the surgery tomorrow.”

 Buzz Buzz.  “Mummy’s awake, Mycroft. Let’s go see her and let Mrs. Berry have some peace and quiet.”

 Mycroft and Mummy were working on a cipher when Daddy came home the next day.  He came in and sat on the end of the bed with a groan.  He rubbed his face with his hands.  “What’s wrong?” asked Mummy, sharply.

 “You were right, Mycroft,” replied Daddy.  “Mrs. Berry’s sick.  She’s in hospital.”

 “In hospital, Daddy? Not in her room?  But you can make her well, right?”

 Daddy’s mouth turned down at the corners, his eyes squeezed shut, and he wrapped his arms around himself.  Mummy put her arms around Mycroft and held him tight.  Slowly, Daddy opened his eyes and looked at Mycroft. “I don’t know,” he said.  “They’re operating tomorrow.  Maybe, if it’s not too far gone.  If we do save her, it’s because you noticed, Mycroft.  She wouldn’t have gone to the doctor yet if it weren’t for you.”

 “But what is it, Daddy?  What do they have to operate for?”

 “It’s cancer.  Of the ovaries, we think.   Do you remember the ovaries?”

 Mycroft suddenly felt cold all over and his stomach felt sick.  Cancer was bad.  Daddy was the best doctor in the world but sometimes his patients died and it was often cancer.

 “Can I go see her, Daddy?”  He needed to see her.  Just this morning she laughed when they were making breakfast and snuck him extra toast.  How could she be in hospital?

 “I’m sorry, Mycroft.  Children under 12 aren’t allowed to visit.  Now, let’s get you in the bath and let Mummy rest.  Aunt Mary and her cook are coming tomorrow to help out.”

 The next five weeks were horrid.  Mrs. Berry didn’t come home.  Mummy stayed in bed.  Her abdomen got big and she was sleepy and grumpy.  Aunt Mary was STUPID.  Her cook didn’t allow boys in the kitchen.  No one asked Mycroft about his feelings or fed him apples or had much time for him at all.  Mummy and Daddy were sad and worried.  And he never got to see Mrs. Berry.  Mycroft passed the time reading all of Daddy’s medical textbooks.  The ones on cancer were scary.  He wondered if Mrs. Berry’s hair was falling out.  He wondered if she hurt a lot.  He wondered if she missed him.

 Finally, one day, Daddy woke him up in the middle of the night.  “Get dressed, Mycroft.  I’m taking you to hospital to see Mrs. Berry.” 

 Mycroft hurried as fast as he could. “I thought it wasn’t allowed, Daddy?”

 “It’s not.  But I know the night nurse. Mrs. Berry needs to see you and you need to see her.”

 Mycroft was dressed, but Daddy didn’t take him out of his room right away. “Mycroft, she looks really different than the last time you saw her.  You need to know that.”

“Is her hair gone, Daddy? Like it talks about in your medical books?”

Daddy half chuckled, half sighed. “I should have known you would get into those. Yes, her hair is gone, she has lost a lot of weight, and she looks…. very ill.  But it’s still her. Don’t be afraid to talk to her or hug her but be really gentle.  We’ll have to be quiet going in so we don’t get caught or you won’t get to see her.”

“I’ll be quiet, Daddy, I promise.  Daddy, is she, is she going to die?”

“All lives end, Mycroft.  We all die sometime.  I’m afraid she’s going to die very soon.  But she really wants to see you.”

Mycroft couldn’t help the tears that trickled down his cheeks.  He knew he should be a brave boy, but it was hard.  He wiped the tears off with the back of his hand, took a deep breath, and straightened his shoulders.

If it weren’t for the reason, sneaking into the hospital in the middle of the night would have been fun.  Daddy used his key to take them in the back.  He knew where to go to avoid the security guard.  The hospital was mostly dark and quiet with a lot of strange smells and spots of bright lights.

 When they got to Mrs. Berry’s room, they tiptoed in, but she was awake.  The bed was tilted up so she was half sitting. It didn’t look like her at all, until Mycroft saw her eyes. They looked at him as lovingly as always.  She smiled at him.  “Myc, I’m so happy to see you.”  Her voice was raspy – it didn’t sound like her at all.  Only her eyes were the same.  He crept close to her bed and just looked.

Mrs. Berry looked at Daddy.  “Ta, Doctor Holmes.  Can you lift him on the bed?”

Daddy lifted Mycroft up beside Mrs. Berry.  She slowly put her arm around him and he gently laid his head on her shoulder.  She was so bony.  It wasn’t like a usual Mrs. Berry hug.

“I’m glad you came, Myc.  I wanted to see you and to talk to you.  You know I’m going to die, Mycroft?”

Slowly, he nodded his head.

“You’ll be sad, Mycroft, but I want you to know some things.  I love you and taking care of you was the best part of my life.  Don’t just be sad, but remember the fun we had and how much I love you.”

Mrs. Berry was the only one who ever just said, “I love you” right out loud.  Mycroft whispered it back to her. “I love you, Mrs. Berry.  I don’t want you to die.”

She smiled at him.  “I don’t want to die, Myc, but we all die sometime.  I’m glad that I knew you before I died.  Promise me you’ll take care of your little brother or sister like I took care of you.”

“I will,” he whispered.  Tears came back to his eyes again. He blinked furiously, but a couple of them escaped.

Mrs. Berry gave him a tiny squeeze.  “A smart boy like you,…. you’ll be running this country some day.  Just remember, ….not everyone’s as smart as you, ….but everyone ….matters.” Her voice was so low, Mycroft could hardly hear the words.

“I’ll remember, Mrs. Berry,” he whispered.

Daddy reached for him. “Mrs. Berry needs to rest, Mycroft. We should go.”

 Mrs. Berry rasped, “Ta…..both.”  As Daddy picked up Mycroft, she gave him one last smile and closed her eyes.  Daddy held him tight.  “It’s OK, Mycroft.  She’s sleeping.  See, you can see her chest rise and fall and hear her breath.”  Daddy carried him out of the hospital – straight past the security guard but the guard didn’t say anything. 

 They were both quiet on the way home.  As Daddy tucked Mycroft back into bed, Mycroft asked, “Is she really going to die… soon?”

“Yes,” Daddy said.  “Probably in a couple days.  We can’t do anything else.  I’m so sorry, son.  I wish…”

“But why, Daddy?”  Suddenly Mycroft was angry, angry, angry.  “It’s not fair. Why is she dying and not Aunt Mary’s mean cook?”

Daddy sighed. Suddenly he looked really old.  “I don’t know Mycroft.  All lives end.  Why some sooner than others, I don’t know.  I dedicated my life to stopping it when I can but we can’t always.  All we can do is fight it and make our lives the best we can.  You made her life better, Mycroft.  We have to be happy about that.”

“I’ll never be happy again!”

“You will, Mycroft,” Daddy said gently.  “The first few times you’re happy, you’ll feel guilty.  But Mrs. Berry wouldn’t want you to be sad forever.  She would want you to be happy but to remember her.  Remember the good times.”

Mycroft turned over so his back was to Daddy. “You might be happy again but I won’t. Never, never, never.”   His slow tears were soaking the pillow.  Daddy didn’t say anything more, but he handed Mycroft a handkerchief and sat with him, rubbing his back gently until Mycroft cried himself to sleep.

After that, Mycroft never let anyone call him Myc.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be 4 chapters plus an epilogue. I have them planned in quite a bit of detail, but haven't written them down yet.
> 
> A few thoughts: I read all my dad's old college textbooks when I was 9 and Mycroft is clearly smarter than I, so I think reading them at 7 is not out of line. My kids and I talked about similar issues in great detail when they were younger than Mycroft so he clearly could have been interested in dissections at that age.
> 
> I don't much about British hospitals in 1978, but at that time in the US children under 12 weren't allowed in. I assumed the same in Britain because it worked for the story.
> 
> My timeline is based on estimated ages in BBC's Sherlock. That puts Sherlock born in 1978, Mycroft born in 1971 and John born 1974.
> 
> Here's the recipe that inspired Mycroft and Mrs. Berry's cooking: http://christinascucina.com/2013/11/eves-pudding-traditional-british-apple.html
> 
> I did borrow the Findley's and the house in Sussex from Performance in A Leading Role by Mad_Lori because it's so perfect and I can only imagine writing that well.
> 
> Also, stephisanerd has an amazing Sherlock and Mycroft meta that fits well with my head canon on them. It's here: http://stephisanerd.tumblr.com/post/73882580029/on-sherlock-and-mycroft-your-loss-would-break-my
> 
> Ovarian cancer moves quickly and has few visible symptoms. Get checked regularly.


	2. All Hearts are Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft learns that all hearts are broken and inadvertently teaches Sherlock that all lives end. This includes the story of Redbeard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta'd or Brit-picked so please let me know if you see any errors. This is intended to be canon-compliant with the Sherlock TV series.

**1985**

Mycroft carefully carried the box up the drive and set it inside the coach house.  He wiped his hands together and strode over to the front of the house, cupped his hands around his mouth, and shouted up to the open window, “Sherlock.”  Nothing happened.

 “Sherlock, answer me,” he shouted again.

 A small head covered with black curls and sporting an eye patch popped out of the window. “There’s no Sherlock here – just Captain Blackbeard.”

“Well, I have a present for Sherlock’s 7th birthday.  What am I going to do with it?” Mycroft called up.

“His birthday’s tomorrow,” the pirate informed him.

“I know but this present won’t wait.  I will have to return it.” He turned but was interrupted.

“Wait, wait, don’t go anywhere!”  The head vanished and sooner than seemed possible, Sherlock emerged and ran over to him.  He shifted from one bare foot to other and looked like he was about to wriggle out of his skin as he said, “Sherlock is my prisoner.  So I’m entitled to any birthday presents anyone brings for Sherlock.”

Mycroft struggled to keep a straight face.  Trust Sherlock not to abandon the game even to retrieve a present.  He wrinkled his brows. “I will let you have Sherlock’s present on two conditions.”

Sherlock, sorry, Captain Blackbeard, jumped up and down, shouting “What? What? What?”

Mycroft held up his hand and Captain Blackbeard stopped shouting but kept jumping, even spinning all the way around on one over-exuberant jump.

“Condition 1.  You stand still for 2 minutes.  I have never seen such a wriggly person in my life.”

Mycroft was always amazed at how much Sherlock moved and how much noise he could make.  Fortunately, Mummy had decided not teach any more after Sherlock was born and they spent most of their time in the country now.  Sherlock would never survive in the flat where people objected to noise.

Captain Blackbeard stopped jumping but his entire body seemed to quiver.  “What’s the second condition?”

“Condition 2.  Sherlock would be able to deduce his present.  So you have to deduce what it is in order to get it.  I’ll give you a clue: there are 3 parts that will help you deduce it – what I said, looking at me, and the third part is in Sherlock’s mind palace from Tuesday.”

“I can deduce it,” bragged Captain Blackbeard. “I beat Sherlock and he’s NOT STUPID.”

“Let’s hear it, then.  What can you tell by what I said?”

“You said the present couldn’t wait, even one day.  So, it’s either perishable or alive.”

“Correct.  Now, what about looking at me?”

Captain Blackbeard looked him up and down, then walked around him.  “Lift up your foot,” he demanded from behind Mycroft.  Mycroft smiled to himself and lifted his left foot and then exchanged it for his right so Captain Blackbeard could see the bottoms of his shoes. He continued his circuit until he was facing Mycroft again and proclaimed, “You were at Farmer Black’s today.”

“And you know this how?” prompted Mycroft.

“That red mud is only on the valley bottom and the straw shows you were at a farm, not the river bank.  You haven’t been gone long enough to go any farther than that to find red mud elsewhere.”

“And what did I get at Farmer Black’s?”

Captain Blackbeard stared at him, then shut his eyes tight.  He stood for a moment, his eyes moving rapidly behind his eyelids and his feet shuffling a little.  His lips moved almost as though he was talking to himself.  His breath came faster and faster.  Suddenly, his mouth dropped open, his eyes opened, and he froze completely.  He stared at Mycroft.  “Did Mummy say it was alright?” he whispered. 

Mycroft was sure he had figured it out, but he wasn’t going to let him get away that easy. “Mummy approved your present, but what is it?”

Sherlock sucked in a giant breath and then exploded across the garden.  He ran, he jumped, he tried a cartwheel, he rolled over and over, laughing the whole time.  Finally, he jumped up, ran back to Mycroft and threw his arms around his waist.  “A puppy, a puppy, you got me a puppy!  Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

 Mycroft put his arms around Sherlock.  (Captain Blackbeard seemed forgotten.) “Do you know where it is?”

 Sherlock pulled back from the embrace and looked around wildly.  Spotting the open door to the carriage house, he ran through it.  Since the box was barking in response to all the noise, it didn’t take much to deduce where the puppy was.  Sherlock dropped to his knees and pulled the box open.  A red Irish Setter puppy poked his head out and started licking Sherlock’s face. Sherlock giggled and lifted the puppy up in his arms.  “I love you, Redbeard,” he said.

Mycroft inquired, “Redbeard?”

“Of course,” Sherlock retorted. “We’re going to be pirates together.  My hair is black, so I’m Captain Blackbeard and his hair is red, so he’s First Mate Redbeard.”

“I see.”  commented Mycroft.  “Now you have to look after him and train him so he’s not a bad dog.”

“I will, I will,” promised Sherlock.  “Come on, Redbeard, let me show you everything.”  He set the puppy down and soon they were chasing each other all round the gardens, falling over each other and rolling around as if they were two puppies.

 Mycroft settled on the front steps to watch them.  Mummy came out to join him and stood watching them for a few minutes.  She put her hand on Mycroft’s shoulder. “Sherlock is so happy,” she commented.  “You’re a good brother, Mycroft.” 

“Now he has someone to play with who’s just as wriggly as he is,” retorted Mycroft. “We may get some peace around here.”

She chuckled and they watched the two tumble and run across the grass for a few minutes.  Mummy sighed, “Well, the book proofs aren’t going to correct themselves.  Why can’t printers copy simple mathematics?  No one’s asking them to understand it; they just need to copy it.”

“Do you want me to help?” asked Mycroft. 

“Not now, Mycroft. It helps me knowing someone’s keeping an eye on Sherlock so I don’t have to worry about random explosions.”

“Message received. Planned explosions only,” retorted Mycroft.

Mummy chuckled and returned to her study.

 When Redbeard showed signs of slowing down, Mycroft coaxed them both into the mudroom where Mrs. Ferguson had placed the food, bowls for food and water, and a dog bed.  He showed Sherlock how much food to give Redbeard.  Redbeard gulped his food and water, crawled into Sherlock’s lap, and fell asleep. 

“Let’s put him in the bed,” suggested Mycroft.

“No,” retorted Sherlock.  “I want to hold him. And he’s not sleeping down here all alone. He’s sleeping with me.” 

Mycroft had suspected this.  “Let’s go into the garden, then.  He’ll take a long nap and I don’t want to sit in the mudroom all afternoon.”

They headed out and settled on the bench in Daddy’s rose garden.

“So you forgot to tell me how you knew it was a puppy,” Mycroft stated.

“Oh, that was easy. I saw red hairs on your trousers, so I knew it had to be an animal.  Then I went into my mind palace to look for animals and Mr. Black’s farm and I saw the flyer we looked at on Tuesday saying Mr. Black had puppies for sale.”

“You’re finally learning deduction,” Mycroft said. He was so proud of Sherlock. “I thought for so long that you were stupid, it’s good to see you deducing.”

“I’m NOT STUPID, Mycroft!” Sherlock’s face showed an impending pout, so Mycroft hurried to reassure him.

“I know, I know.  I realized that when we had to play with other children.  But I’m glad that you have learned because now you can continue on your own.”

“On my own?  Where will you be, Mycroft?”  Sherlock looked alarmed.

“I’m going to prep school,” Mycroft replied.

“Prep school?  With STUPID people?  WHY? I heard Mummy say that you were more advanced than a lot of her university students.”

“I’m not going to _learn_. I’m going to start my career.  I want to be in government.  The simplest way to get into government in this country starts with the right schools.  I probably should have started earlier, but I wanted to be sure I’d learned all I could from Mummy and Daddy.”

“But, Mycroft, you’re going to leave me all alone?”

“Nonsense, you have Mummy and Daddy and the Fergusons and Redbeard.  I’ll write you every week.”

“In code?” Sherlock inquired eagerly.

“Yes, in code.  A different code every week. Then you can write back in the same code so I know that you solved it.  Mummy can help if you get stuck, but she’ll tell me if you ask her.”

“I bet I can break all your codes.  And I’ll tell you everything I deduce about people here.”

Mycroft ruffled Sherlock’s hair.  Sherlock leaned against him and started telling a long story about the adventures Blackbeard and Redbeard were going to have.  The warm sun and the sleeping puppy were apparently soporific.  When his story trailed off, Mycroft looked down and was surprised to see Sherlock asleep.  Normally, Sherlock never took naps.  He kept going until everyone was exhausted, fell asleep where he stood, and slept barely enough to satisfy Daddy.  Maybe this puppy would help even more than he thought.  Sherlock could be amazing if he got enough to eat and regular sleep, but Mycroft pitied the poor soul who tried to get Sherlock to eat and sleep when he was an adult.  He suspected it would be him – already it was hard to imagine Sherlock married.  But for now, he relaxed and watched the boy and puppy sleep.

 

Prep school was more interesting than Mycroft had expected.  The school work wasn’t a challenge – he took care to be near the top but never _at_ the top of the class.  His intellectual stimulation came from discussing Mummy’s work with her, writing codes for Sherlock, and running the school.  He had assumed that a prep school would be an interesting laboratory for running a country.  He knew he didn’t want to go into politics – civil service gave much more scope for a long career of behind the scenes power.  Since students had no official power at school, running the school as a student was good practice.

He learned an amazing amount about practical psychology.  The books were not as useful as he’d hoped, but he found the histories and political books much more useful.  _The Art of War_ and _The Prince_ really gave him all he needed. 

Living in a house full of teenage boys also taught him about sex.  He knew about it, of course.  He just didn’t quite see what all the fuss was about.  Eventually, he tried it with a trusted minion.  Andrew was ecstatic, but Mycroft had to pretend to find it appealing.  Sex wasn’t horrible – it was much better than rugby – but after that he decided that he was asexual.  It just didn’t seem worth the trouble.  But it was useful.  He took care not to get a reputation for being easy, but sex with the right person at the right time made his control of the situation that much stronger.

 By the time he was ready for university, he felt confident in his ability to understand and manipulate events.  He was almost ready to start running the country as Mrs. Berry had predicted.  Not that anyone would know of course.  An apparently minor post was all he wanted.  No one cuts down the short trees in the forest.

 His plans fell apart in October of his first year in university. He met Sebastian. Suddenly, he understood what all those love songs were droning on about. Everything else seemed less important.

 Fortunately, Sebastian seemed smitten with him as well.  Sebastian was smart, by normal standards, and could carry on an interesting conversation.  He was just a couple of inches shorter than Mycroft, with a lean body – none of the tendency to plumpness that Mycroft had to fight.

Mycroft sometimes wondered what it was about Sebastian that was so appealing.  He was lovely, but Mycroft had to admit that there were others just as attractive.  He had a way of watching Mycroft out of the corner of his eye that Mycroft found irresistible.   He was always just one step ahead of expulsion – if it hadn’t been for Mycroft doing most of his essays for him, he would have been sent down for certain.  But his brilliant essays and Mycroft’s talent for managing kept him in school.  Mycroft actually found sex pleasant with Sebastian – not that he was any more into sex, but Sebastian was so grateful.  Especially since Mycroft never asked for reciprocity – seeing Sebastian happy was enough for him.  They were a perfect match – Sebastian took and Mycroft gave.

 Mycroft almost forgot about his larger plan.  He didn’t have time to make codes for Sherlock every week – Sebastian filled his days, his nights, and his thoughts.

 The only problem was the part of Mycroft’s mind that kept trying to make unflattering deductions about Sebastian.  Mycroft became an expert in deleting things from his mind palace.  But a few incidents were hard to delete.  Like the time Sebastian’s brother, William, visited and took them to lunch.  He asked about Kate. 

“Oh, she’s fine,” Sebastian told him airily. “She loves Boston.” 

“How’s the wedding planning coming?”

“I leave all that to the ladies. How’s law school?” Sebastian replied. 

Later, when Mycroft asked about Kate, Sebastian hugged him tight.  “Thank you so much for keeping your mouth shut.  I’m not out to my family – neither is Kate.  So it’s easier if they think we’re engaged.  It’s pretty easy with her in the States for a year.”

The part of Mycroft that pointed out that Sebastian had made sure he couldn’t see his face when he said this and that his voice sounded like he was lying, Mycroft attributed to jealousy. 

“I’m not out yet” became Sebastian’s answer to everything.  They were living together now, but Sebastian took a different girl out every weekend.  “Just part of the cover,” Sebastian explained. “I’m not out yet, you know.”  Mycroft discovered a previously unknown skill for denial – not that he would admit it to himself.  The part of him that thought a fiancée was enough cover was locked deep in the cellars of his mind palace.

One day in March, Mycroft limped into their rooms.  Sebastian looked up from his paper and jumped up.  “Let me help you. What happened?”  He supported Mycroft to a chair and started gently removing his shoes.  “Hit a patch of ice on my bike and hit the road.  Careful, I think some skin is missing.”  Sebastian gently peeled off his socks and trousers.  “Ooh, you’re right. You need that bandaged.  Let me grab the first aid kit from the prefect.”

Mycroft leaned back and enjoyed the sensation of someone taking care of him.  Every so often, Sebastian would spoil him dreadfully.  Mycroft was never sure what brought these episodes on but he enjoyed them.  Sebastian gently bandaged his leg and ran him a bath.  Then he helped him out of his clothes and into the bath, helping him settle his bandaged leg on the side of the tub.  Mycroft relaxed into the hot water.  “Mycroft, I have a favour to ask you,” Sebastian began. 

 “Not tonight, Sebastian, please.  I’m exhausted,” Mycroft replied.

 “Not that, idiot,” Sebastian retorted.  “I want you to come home with me for Easter hols.”

 Mycroft’s eyes opened wide.  “Really?  But won’t your family suspect?”

 “Well, see that’s the favour.  I want you to be there, but we’ll have to have separate rooms and pretend we’re straight.  But my brother is having a huge house party and I don’t think I can get through it without you.”

 “Of course, Sebastian.  I’d love to meet your parents.”

 “Oh, they won’t be there.  Mummy can’t stand winter.  They’re in Spain. Or maybe Florida, I don’t remember.”

 “Well, at least I can see where you grew up.”

 “You’ll love it, Mycroft. Thank you.”  Sebastian sat with him until the water was lukewarm, then helped him out, dried him off, and helped him to bed.  As Mycroft drifted off to sleep, he heard Sebastian whisper “I love you, Mycroft.”  So this is what happiness feels like, mused Mycroft.  I’d forgotten.

 

The trip to Sebastian’s home was better than Mycroft had hoped.  Sebastian had a car and drove them down.  Having Sebastian all to himself for hours was wonderful.  Sebastian’s home was one of those estates that everyone said no one could afford any more.  The first couple of hours while Sebastian showed him around and stole kisses in every room were amazing. But then William and his friends arrived.  Suddenly the house was full of noise and people.  There were so many of them and they’d all brought the most annoying girls with them. 

The next two days tried Mycroft’s patience severely.  Sebastian was never around, the girls were truly insipid, and everything was LOUD. When the group was all together, Sebastian kept egging Mycroft on to show off his deductions and esoteric knowledge.  Mycroft knew that was not the way to make friends, but he wanted to keep Sebastian happy so he did.  By Saturday morning, Mycroft was exhausted.  He sat in his room, trying to get the energy to face the crowd at breakfast. 

The door opened and Sebastian slid in.  “Oh, thank goodness, no one saw me.  Why are you hiding in here, love?”

 “Just getting ready to face the crowd again.”

 Sebastian sprawled on the bed.  “They are truly horrid, aren’t they?  Well, Liz is alright.  She’s been one of the guys forever.  But where William’s friends dredged up their dates, I shudder to think.”

 “Can’t we get out of here?” Mycroft asked.

 “Tomorrow, I promise.  Tonight’s the party and all the chavs are atwitter.  It would be ungentlemanly to leave William in the lurch.  Tomorrow one of us can get appendicitis or something and we’ll make a strategic retreat.”

 “Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.”

 “You have a heart?” teased Sebastian. “Come over here and prove it, love.”  Watching Sebastian’s face and his body react to his lovemaking erased Mycroft’s doubts.  Surely, this was real – not what was outside. 

Afterwards, Mycroft snuggled into Sebastian’s arms.  He had accepted that this was what he wanted – sex was very much optional but love was necessary.  Unfortunately, when he shifted to get comfortable, Sebastian could see the clock.  “Is that the bloody time?  I’m sorry, love, I have to go help William set up.  Would you do me a huge favour?”  He jumped from the bed and started throwing his clothes back on.

 “Anything.”

 “Can you be the dolly wrangler this afternoon?  From 3 to 5, William wants to haze his friend who just got engaged.  We’ll be in the billiard room and we don’t want the dollies there.  Except for Liz, of course.  She’s one of the guys.  We’re bringing in girls to give manicures and pedicures but someone needs to be in charge of keeping them away.”

 “Of course.  Sounds simple enough.”

 Sebastian leaned down for a last kiss.  “Thanks, love.  One more night, we’re together.”  He opened the door a crack, listened, then slipped out.

 Mycroft decided breakfast was unnecessary.  No one would miss him if he stayed here till lunch.  He spent the time planning his life with Sebastian.  There was a lot of planning – it would be a quite different life from his original plan.

Lunch was bearable now that he knew that it was their last day.  He set himself the task of charming the girls to make his assignment easier. It turned out to be simple.  And like most people, helping them out made them easy to control.  Once all the girls were set up with their hands or feet soaking, he wandered out.  He wouldn’t need to stay, just monitor the situation. 

Almost without thinking, he headed toward the billiard room.  He was curious what this hazing looked like.  As he approached the door, he heard Sebastian’s voice, raised in dispute, “Mycroft absolutely wins.  The prize is mine.” 

 Mycroft couldn’t help himself, he paused just out of sight, listening.

“Absolutely not,” that had to be William. “The contest was clearly for women.  Mycroft isn’t even eligible.”

Sebastian chuckled.  “Is that so?  Clarence, you have the official betting slip don’t you?  Read it to these gentlemen would you?”

Another voice, “Wager:  Each of us puts in £50.  The bettor who brings the most annoying date to the Easter hols party scoops the pot.  1 September 1990.”

A girl laughed. “I think he’s got you there, William.”

“Exactly,” Sebastian retorted.  “DATE.  Nothing in the wording suggests female.”

“There was a clear verbal contract,” began William, but the room was clearly against him.  Boos, hisses, and laughter drowned him out.

“Alright, alright,” William roared. “I’ll stipulate that Mycroft is eligible, but most annoying? Really?  I thought he was rather sweet in a middle-class sort of way.”

“My god,” said Clarence. “Haven’t you been listening?  All those deductions.  And that know-it-all attitude.  It’s bad enough from profs but from someone younger than us?  You just don’t want to admit Seb won.”

Sebastian added, “You have no idea.  He thinks he’s Machiavelli.  Always has some scheme to rule the world. And he plans to rule it make everyone equal.  ‘Everyone matters’ the little priss always says.  Like some chav should count as much as we do.  You have no idea what I’ve gone through to get him here.  I knew as soon as I met him that he would be perfect but he wouldn’t come just on a dirty weekend.  I’ve cultivated him for months.  I even had to give him a bath once, the little ponce.”

“And let me guess,” another voice added.  “You let him suck your willie to keep him loyal. Where do you find these pathetic creatures, Seb?”

Mycroft was frozen.  No one who made it through prep school was a stranger to casual cruelty but this was Sebastian.  He had to see – surely there was some mistake. With more effort than he’d ever expended in his life, he took a step forward so he could see in the door.  Sebastian was sitting on the couch facing the door, Liz on his lap.  He was replying to someone to Mycroft’s left.  “Actually, the knob polishing wasn’t bad.  He has a talent for that.  Pity he uses his mouth so much for talking.”

Liz playfully slapped him and as he turned back to her, he saw Mycroft standing there.  Their eyes met.  Sebastian put on his “you caught me, but nothing bad will happen because I’m cute” face.  He lifted one eyebrow and gave a rueful shrug, then leaned down and kissed Liz.  “Of course, he’s not as good as you are.”

Liz slapped him again but Mycroft didn’t stay to hear the taunts and cheers.  He turned and walked out the front door.  He barely knew where he was going, except away.  He marched towards the front gate.  Gradually, he noticed a car idling beside him.  He glanced over and saw the chauffeur.  “Need a ride to the station, mate?” the chauffeur asked.

 “How’d you know?” Mycroft asked.

 “We gets a couple every weekend those two have a party.  I’ve learned to watch.  I can run you to the station and let the housekeeper know to send your things.”

 “Thank you,” said Mycroft and climbed into the car.  Fortunately, the chauffeur wasn’t the chatty sort.  When they got to the station, he opened the door for Mycroft and said, “Got your wallet, mate?  Cause I can get a ticket on the estate card if you need it.”  Mycroft felt for his wallet.  “No, I’m fine.  Thanks for the ride.”  He pulled out some notes for a tip, but the chauffeur shook his head. “No, mate.  I can’t stop those two, but I can remind you not everyone’s like them.  Whatever they did to you, I don’t reckon you deserved it.  Remember that,” and he was gone.

 Mycroft headed into the station, bought a ticket, and settled into the waiting room.  He felt numb and cold.  “Shock,” whispered the voice in his head that had learned to diagnose from his dad.  “You need a cup of hot sweet tea.”  But moving further wasn’t in Mycroft’s abilities yet, so he sat, waiting for his train, keeping his face absolutely blank.

 Mycroft still felt numb as he headed up the drive at home.  Numb was good. Numb was the only thing holding him together.  No one should be up at this ungodly hour and the front of the house was dark. He headed around the back to enter through the mudroom.  To his surprise, the lights were on and voices were coming from the mudroom.  He paused to listen. Sherlock was yelling, “No.” “Leave us alone.” “Go Away.”  Daddy and Mummy were interjecting, “Sherlock.” “Listen.”  “Calm down, son.”  Redbeard was whining.

Mycroft opened the door.  Everyone froze and looked at him. Redbeard was in his bed, trying to get up and clearly unable to.  Sherlock was in front of the dog bed, holding off Mummy, Daddy, and the Fergusons with a broom he was using as a quarterstaff.

“Mycroft,” said Mummy in relief.  “Mycroft, help me,” shouted Sherlock.  “They want to murder Redbeard.”

“Put down, not murder,” muttered Mr. Ferguson. “The poor thing is suffering so.”

Everyone looked at Mycroft expectantly.  He sighed.  “Let’s all take a minute.  Mummy, Daddy, Mr. and Mrs. Ferguson, could you leave us alone for a few minutes?”

They looked relieved and filed out into the kitchen and shut the door.  Mycroft approached Sherlock and knelt with his hands up. “Sherlock, I promise I’m not going to try anything. Can you put down the broom and let me see Redbeard?” 

Sherlock threw the broom down and threw his arms around Mycroft, crying into his shoulder.  Mycroft held him for a minute, then said, “Should we check on Redbeard?”

Redbeard was trying to drag himself to them, but clearly his hind legs and tail didn’t work. One of his front legs wasn’t working well, either.  He was whining, whether because he was in pain, or because of Sherlock’s distress Mycroft couldn’t tell.  Sherlock turned and sat on the floor, lifting Redbeard so he could lick Sherlock’s face.  Mycroft joined them on the floor and Redbeard turned his head to lick Mycroft’s face as well, then laid his head on Sherlock’s lap.  An unpleasant smell drifted up and Mycroft saw that Redbeard had lost control of his bladder and bowels.  Sherlock’s lips tightened and he said, “Daddy brought us incontinent pads, wipes, and a sealed garbage can.  I’ve been cleaning him up but he’s sleeping now.”  Mycroft found the supplies and cleaned Redbeard up.  “I need to go talk to Mummy and Daddy for a minute.  Can you hold Redbeard for a few minutes?”  Sherlock nodded, but his eyes narrowed.  “Don’t let them sneak in here to kill Redbeard.”

“I won’t,” Mycroft promised.  He followed his parents and found them in dining room with a glass of whiskey each.  There was no sign of the Fergusons.

“What’s happened to the dog?” he asked, trying not to sound accusing. 

His dad sighed.  “Systemic Lupus Erythematosus.  SLE.  It’s rare, but it’s an autoimmune disease.  They aren’t sure what causes it, but it starts any time after the dog is two.  Redbeard started showing symptoms about nine months ago.  We have tried everything but there’s no cure.  Some dogs manage to get to remission, but not Redbeard.  He’s going to die and now all we can do is reduce his pain.”

“But surely you weren’t going to put him down tonight.”

“No, of course not.  We have an appointment with the vet on Monday.  But his kidneys are failing.  The vet recommended subcutaneous fluid to help with the headache he says the poor dog has.  When we took the fluid and the needle in, Sherlock assumed that we were trying to kill him and, well, you saw.”

“We made a huge mistake,” Mummy put in.  “We took Redbeard to the vet while Sherlock was gone for the day thinking that he would never know.  But the vet ended up keeping him overnight so Sherlock came home to find no Redbeard.  He doesn’t trust us now.  But he still trusts you.”

“I see.  Could Sherlock and I give the fluids?”

“Of course.  It’s a simple sub q.  Near the flank or back of the neck will work.”

“Why don’t you two go to bed, then?  I’ll handle this.”

Mummy gave a sigh of relief and patted his hand.  “Thank you, Mycroft.”

Daddy looked at him closely.  “I’ll be up for awhile if you need me, Mycroft.”

“I’ll be fine,” Mycroft asserted, much more confidently than he felt.

He returned to the mudroom.  Sherlock was still holding Redbeard and looking at him with suspicious eyes.  He sat on the floor beside Sherlock.  “You made an error in tactics, you know.”

“What error?  I’ve learned baritsu and quarterstaff.  I can defend Redbeard against grown men.  You saw – they couldn’t get close.”

“That’s true, but how many men could you handle?  What if they got a dozen men?”

“Why would they do that?”

“Indeed.  Why would they?  Think, Sherlock.  Use your mind.”

Sherlock was quiet for a minute.  Slowly, he spoke, “I suppose, if they thought I was mad, they would bring a lot of men.  And yelling and crying make them think I’m mad?”

“Exactly, Sherlock.  Children and women can get what they want by crying.  Men can’t.  You’re the size of a man now, so you have to act like one. You have to show them that you are reasonable, logical, and have overwhelming force.”

There was silence for quite a while.  Sherlock wiped the drying tears from his cheeks.  “But how do I do that Mycroft?  I want to cry.  How do you do it?”

“Remember I taught you about the mind palace?  It’s good for more than remembering things.”

“Really?”

“Yes.  Close your eyes and go to your mind palace.  Now find a place with a sturdy lock.  Take the part of you that cries and put him in there and lock the door.  You can do it – the part of you that cries doesn’t know baritsu.  Now, you need to let him out sometimes, but you control when.”

“Why do you let him out, Mycroft?” 

“Because if you never let him out he gets too strong and he can break out.  If you let him out and let him cry sometimes he will stay in.  But never let him out in front of people.  In the shower works.  No one can hear you and if your eyes are red you can say you got shampoo in them.  Can you do that?”

“Yes, Mycroft. He’s locked up for good.”

“Now tell me about Redbeard.  Why don’t his legs work?”

Sherlock’s mouth twisted but he took three deep breaths and didn’t cry.  Mycroft was so proud of him.  “He has a disease.” Sherlock said.

“Does this disease have a name?”

“Systemic Lupus Erythematosus.  SLE”

“Have you read about this disease?  Can you make him well?”

“I’ve read everything about the disease.  We even tried the experimental drugs but they didn’t work.”

“So what’s going to happen?”

“His legs,” Sherlock gulped. “His legs will stop working.  His kidneys will stop working.  He will get sicker and sicker and then he will die.”

“Does it hurt him?”

“He can’t feel his legs so they don’t hurt.  He gets sad when he can’t stand up, though.  His kidneys are failing and he probably has a headache because he’s dehydrated.”

“Can we do anything about the headache?”

“We could give him an subcutaneous fluid dose.”

“Let me see if Daddy has one.”  Mycroft got up and wandered the mudroom. He picked up the bag of fluid and the needle from the counter and brought them over. 

“Is this the right stuff, Sherlock?”

Sherlock looked the bag over carefully.  “Yes, it is.  Can you do it?”

“Only if you hold him and keep petting him and reassuring him.”

Giving the dose turned out to be simple.  Redbeard barely moved, but once it was completed, his head relaxed into Sherlock’s lap. 

“He looks more comfortable,” Mycroft said.  Sherlock didn’t reply but kept stroking Redbeard.  Mycroft tidied up and resumed his seat beside Sherlock.  “Tell me about learning quarterstaff,” he said.  Sherlock began a long detailed description, which Mycroft didn’t really listen to. When Sherlock started to run down, Mycroft said, “You have to be strong to do quarterstaff well.” 

“Yes, and I’m getting a lot stronger practicing,” Sherlock admitted.

“Would you hit a dog with your quarter staff?” asked Mycroft.

“No,” said Sherlock, horrified.  “Never.  I might put it in his mouth if he was trying to bite me, but I wouldn’t hit him.”

“How about a little kid? or Mummy?”

“Never.  It wouldn’t be right.”

“Why not?  You’re stronger, shouldn’t you be able to make them do what you want?”

“But not like that!  I’m stronger so I should take care of those who can’t take care of themselves.  I should be able to make them do what I want because I’m smarter.”

“So you shouldn’t hurt people or animals because you’re stronger?”

“No, of course not.”

“Are you hurting Redbeard?”

Sherlock froze.  Then attacked. “I’m not hurting him.  The disease is hurting him.  If anyone’s hurting anyone, it’s you. You bought him.  You should have bought a healthy dog.”

“You didn’t cause the hurt, I agree.  But could you stop it?  If you could stop it and you don’t, what does that mean?”

Sherlock turned his head away but not before Mycroft saw a single tear trickle down his cheek.  Slowly, he reached out and put his arm around Sherlock. Sherlock leaned into him and muttered. “I hate you, Mycroft.”

“I hate me, too, sometimes.”

They sat there a long time.  Sherlock asked, “Why?  Why does Redbeard have to die? It’s not fair.”

“You’re right, Sherlock, – it’s not fair.  I don’t know why. I know that all lives end.  I know you made Redbeard happy and he made you happy.  You have to remember that so that it matters that he lived.”

There was another long pause.  Finally Sherlock said, “When?”

“The vet can do it Monday morning.  He’ll give him a shot to make him go to sleep.  Then he’ll give him another to stop his breathing. He will just go to sleep and not wake up.  But tonight and tomorrow, I think we should make a really good day for him.  You can sleep with him and when the sun comes up, I’ll help you carry him into the garden.  We’ll stay out there all day with him in the fresh air and the sunshine.  He’ll like that, won’t he?”

“Can I really stay with him all the time till then?”

“Absolutely.  I’ll get a pallet and some blankets and we’ll make you a bed right here.”

Mycroft got them settled in, changed Redbeard’s pad after more incontinence, and waited till they were both asleep.  Then he headed out to the tool shed and his secret stash.  Thankfully, the cigarettes were still there.  He collapsed on the garden bench and lit a cigarette.  The first drag was so comforting.  He buried his head in hands and sat there, taking an occasional drag but mostly just existing.  He didn’t even hear the soft footsteps and jumped when Daddy said, “Got another one?”

He looked up.  “Since when do doctors smoke?”

“We know it’s not healthy but we also know nicotine calms the nerves.  If anyone deserves a cigarette, you do tonight.”

He sat on the bench beside Mycroft and held out his hand.  Mycroft gave him the pack and lighter and was amazed to see him light up and smoke like a pro.

“You did a good thing for your brother tonight. But why are you here?  Aren’t you supposed to be at your friend’s house till Tuesday?”

Mycroft took another drag on the cigarette and fought to keep his voice steady.  “Not a friend, it turned out.”

“I’m sorry, Mycroft.  All hearts are broken but I hate to see it happen to you.”

 “Even yours?”

 “Even mine.”

 “What do you do?”

 “You do what you did tonight.  You keep on.  You do what’s in front of you, what needs to be done.  Then, if you’re really lucky, you meet someone who glues your heart back together and makes it better than you ever dreamed.”

 “I doubt that will happen to me.”

 “Mummy married me, so anything’s possible.  But in the mean time, you keep on.”

 Mycroft stubbed out his cigarette.  “Thanks, Daddy.  If it’s all the same to you, it’s been a long day.  I think I need a shower.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DaringD wants a happy ending, and I have one - but only after 4 chapters. The next two chapters will be "Caring is not an advantage" and "Sherlock" followed by an epilogue.
> 
> Thanks to 1butterfly_grl1 for setting me straight on how to give fluids to a pet with failing kidneys. I should have looked it up - remembering from 8 years ago didn't work. So I fixed that.
> 
> Kudos to Louis Oliver for an amazing performance of Young Sherlock in His Last Vow. He was the child in my head as I wrote this.
> 
> Links:  
> SLE: http://www.provet.co.uk/health/diseases/sle.htm  
> Baritsu: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Baritsu


	3. Caring is Not an Advantage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft has started his government service in the middle of the IRA London bombings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at the trigger warnings. This could be hard for some people to read.

1992

Mycroft stood against the wall, observing and deducing. Usually, he was the only one in the control room at night which made memorizing the files and organizing his mind palace simple. But tonight, they were going after an IRA bomb factory and everyone from their secret unit that wasn’t on the op was in the control room. 

Mycroft hoped the bombers were asleep. By timing the raid at 3:00 am, they minimized the risk to bystanders. If the bombers were asleep, the raid would be simpler. But shutting down a bomb factory in a block of row houses probably could never be low risk.

Everyone on the team was out for blood. The bombs were coming with such frequency now, they were humiliated. Even though no one knew of their unit’s existence, they did and they should have stopped it. Tonight was their chance.

Reginald Smythe was in command. The field team was on radio silence, so there wasn’t much coming over the audio. They were 5 minutes away from breaking down the door when Sullivan’s voice came over the audio. “Subject approaching from the east, approximately 25 year old white male.” “Subject stopped abruptly and has reversed course. May have spotted the team.” “Subject has reached the corner and turned north.”

Commander Smythe grabbed his microphone, “Abort. Abort. Abort.” Everyone in the room turned to stare at him. They had all been expecting a go early signal, not abort. The twitch of his eye and his left hand told Mycroft this was something personal. Reginald continued, “This is Commander Smythe ordering you to fall back and report in when you have reached staging area B. Repeat: Abort mission, proceed to staging area B, and report.”

He released the microphone and turned to his astonished team. “Can we get surveillance on them?” 

Johnson grabbed the phone, “I’ll contact Metro CID. We asked them to avoid this area tonight so it’ll take awhile.”

The room erupted into the orderly chaos of a confused group trying to restructure an operation on the fly. When the strike team returned, the debrief threatened to turn tense but Commander Smythe refused to allow debate on the abort call. 

“I made the decision not to evacuate the block,” he stated firmly. “If they knew we were coming, it would have turned into a hostage situation or worse, they could have blown up the entire street. We’ll get those bastards, just not tonight. Now, let’s look forward. We’ll watch to see if they move. Mycroft, I want you going through every scrap of information we have to see if you can predict where they’ll go if they move. Everyone else, get with your informants, get Mycroft every scrap of data you can and we’ll either move in Thursday or when we’ve confirmed their new location. Sullivan, I want complete staff assignments for new surveillance by 0800 hours.”

Within an hour, things were back to what passed for normal in a secret government unit. Almost everyone was home trying to get a few hours sleep before their usual day shift. Since Mycroft was on the night shift, he resumed his usual chair and started going through the files again. His mind kept going back to Commander Smythe, though. He had not acted the way Mycroft expected. There must be some data Mycroft was missing. Finally, he decided to fetch a cup of tea. Maybe the break would help him get his mind back on his work.

As he came back towards the control room, he just caught a glimpse of Commander Smythe ushering someone into interrogation room A. Mycroft hurried into the control room to see if he needed to record an interrogation. But when he checked the camera feed, he saw Margaret Murphy facing Commander Smythe. Mycroft lifted his headset to listen. He had long since decided that his need for data trumped things like privacy. He was the soul of discretion, so it wasn’t really eavesdropping. 

“…did you want to talk about, Reggie? I really need to get home,” Margaret said.

“Peg, I just wanted to tell you, I realized something tonight,” began Commander Smythe. He didn’t sound like his usual commanding self, Mycroft thought. He sounded hesitant.

“Tonight? In the middle of a raid?” retorted Margaret.

“Yes, in the middle of a raid. I realized,” he paused and gulped. “I love you, Peggy.”

“What? No, I did not just hear that.”

Commander Smythe reached for her hand. She snatched it away and took a step back.

“Yes. I love you Peggy. I can’t stand to see you in danger.”

“What the hell? Is that what the abort was? You were afraid I would get hurt?”

“Yes, don’t you see? I love you so much, nothing else matters. Please, Peggy, you care about me, too, don’t you?”

“How dare you! We agreed that we were simply sleeping together. It was just stress relief and didn’t mean anything. And now you want to blame your cowardice on me? Yes, I could have been hurt tonight. It’s my bloody job and it’s a risk that I willing take to help protect my city from those IRA bastards. You ruined an operation tonight that took months. You don’t even know whether that guy was a look-out or some bakery worker that forgot his lunch. If those bastards get away and kill more innocent people that’s on you. I didn’t ask for you to give me special treatment. I don’t need you to protect me. I just need a commander who has his mind on the bloody mission.”

“But, Peggy, I love you. We should be together. We can get other jobs – security consulting. We can be together and raise our children somewhere safe.”

“Children? You bloody bastard. You think I should give up everything I’ve worked for and be your brood mare just because you felt a twinge?”

“A twinge? This isn’t a twinge. I’ve never felt like this about anyone before. Peggy, please. We don’t have to plan everything tonight. But surely, you feel something for me. It hasn’t just been fun and games, has it?”

“Yes, it was just for fun! You’re a good shag and we PROMISED it was nothing more than that.”

“I’m sorry, Peggy. Come home with me and it’ll be like old times. I won’t say it again.”

“How dare you! You ruined a mission and now you want me to just forget it? No. Never. You ask for a transfer and I won’t report you. But we are done.”

“But don’t you care, at all? How can you be so cold Peggy?”

“How can I be so cold? Have you seen the news? Have you seen the children afraid to go to school, the moms that are terrified their sons won’t make it home from their office jobs that were supposed to be so safe? Lots of people care. But some people act. In this business, Reggie, caring is not an advantage.”

She marched out the door, not even troubling to slam it behind her. Mycroft watched Captain Sullivan stare after her for a long moment. When he eventually moved toward the door, he walked like a man 10 years older.

The next two weeks were hell. The surveillance teams around the house saw nothing. A door-to-door crew heard that the house was empty. A “pest inspection” team went in and confirmed the bombers had cleared out before the surveillance was in place. They did pick up a few scraps of Semtex for later comparison, but that was all.

Mycroft redoubled his efforts. He spent most of his time trying to deduce the new location or the next target, but he did put together a quick proposal for an expansion of closed circuit cameras in the city. If they had had cameras on the roads, they could have figured out where the bombers had gone. 

He stopped going home – he didn’t need much sleep anyway. When he had to, he crashed in one of the cells for an hour. He was in the command center when the call came in – explosion in Canary Wharf. Commander Smythe came in and listened while the calls came in. He sent a team down to liaise with the fire department and get a sample of the debris to check the materials. He coordinated a quick comparison in the lab. When the result came back showing a match between the Semtex in the house from the aborted raid and the bomb at Canary Wharf, he and Mycroft shared a look. 

“Don’t blame yourself, Mycroft,” he said. 

“Canary Wharf is in our list of top 5 possible targets, sir. I’m sorry, we just weren’t fast enough. When we get the camera network working...”

“Yes, Mycroft, that was a brilliant idea of yours. Carry on; I just have to go see a man about a dog.”

“Sir,” Mycroft began.

“Yes,” Commander Smythe paused at the door.

“Sir, don’t blame yourself, either.”

“Thank you, Mycroft.” Commander Smythe continued out the door. The cameras only covered the interrogation rooms, so no one saw when he headed to the armoury and checked out a revolver. He walked into the locker room, sat on the bench, stuck the revolver in his mouth, and pulled the trigger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The IRA bombings were real. I didn't want to use the death of actual people for my fic, so I used a bomb discovered at Canary Wharf on 16 November 1992. The security guards found it and it was disarmed, but in my fic the bomb went off.
> 
> I don't know enough about the conflict to take sides, but I'm sure Mycroft would have been in the thick of trying to stop the bombings.


	4. Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chance for Mycroft to test his rules. Does he live by them or not?

2002

Mycroft found his way into the abandoned warehouse through the back. It had been obviously used as a squat for quite some time, but seemed deserted now. On the first floor, in the farthest corner, he found what he was expecting. A tall, black-haired man lay curled in the corner. The most defensible spot in the building, with a stash of concrete chunks and rebar ready as weapons.

It wouldn’t help him, thought Mycroft. Weapons weren’t much use when you were unconscious. He bent and felt for a pulse. A sigh escaped his lips when he felt the rapid pulse in a hot wrist. He tugged the man into the recovery position, then stood looking down at him.

Mycroft murmured, “All lives end. All hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage.” After a long moment, he reached in his pocket and pulled out his phone.

“Operator” said the voice after one ring.  
“This is Mycroft Holmes. I need an unmarked ambulance to my current location. Patient is a 24 year old male, currently unconscious, probable cocaine overdose. Potential for multiple drugs. Pulse is rapid, temperature is elevated, and respiration is shallow and rapid. Needs detox and rehab in a secure facility.”  
“On the way, sir. Do you need security?”  
“Only with the ambulance. The area is currently deserted.”  
“What name shall I put on the patient record, sir?”  
“Put…. William Scott”  
“Very well, sir. Ambulance ETA 10 minutes.”  
“Tell them to come in the back, squatters have made an entrance. Patient is on the Northwest corner of the first floor. There is a stairway up from the ground floor on the West side that is passable.”  
“Yes, sir.”

Mycroft folded his phone and replaced it in his pocket. He looked down at the man. “Sherlock,” he murmured. Then he sat on the floor in one graceful movement and held his brother’s hand until the ambulance arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised a happy ending - that will be in the epilogue.


	5. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The happy ending I promised DaringD. Thanks for your support from Chapter 1!

**Some Time in the Future**

 John chuckled as the black car slid to the curb and the door opened.  He peered in and said to Mycroft, “I’m on my way to work. No time for a kidnapping today, even for a brother-in-law.”

 “Au contraire, brother-in-law,” retorted Mycroft.  “I’ve arranged it with Sarah.  No work for you today.  You should be getting a text from her right about” he paused as John’s phone chirped.

 He checked it for the look of the thing.  Of course, it was Sarah and his afternoon was suddenly free.  He slid into the back of the car and shut the door.  The car glided into traffic.

 “No threats for old-time sake?” he asked Mycroft.

 Mycroft raised an eyebrow.  “You’ve survived two years of marriage to my brother.  I’m not sure what I could threaten you with.”

 “You do realize,” John pointed out, “that you don’t have to kidnap your brother-in-law to have a chat.  Most people just pick up the phone.”

 “Ah, John, don’t you remember what I said to you the first time we met?”

 “'I’ll pay you to spy on Sherlock?'  If you’re still offering, Sherlock insists I say yes so we can afford a holiday.”

 “No, John, I meant ‘When one is avoiding the attention of Sherlock Holmes, one learns to be discreet’.”

 John stared at Mycroft.  “You do know I’ll tell him, don’t you?  You can’t be unclear on my loyalties at this point.”

 Mycroft waved a hand, airily.  “Tell him anything you like.  I just want to tell you something first.  Something Sherlock doesn’t know.”

 John sat back.  “Oh, anything Sherlock doesn’t know he doesn’t care about.  I’ve given up trying to know more than he does.”

 Mycroft chuckled.  “Oh, but he’ll care about this.  This is about me.  And Sherlock.  But I think you are the one that will know how to use the information best.  I have no objection to you telling him when and as you see fit.”

 John sighed.  Apparently he was going to be a pawn in the long-running game between Mycroft and Sherlock, again.  All he could do was wait and see.  He glanced out the window and stiffened.  “Mycroft,” he growled, “Why are you bringing me _here_? I never want to see this cemetery again.”

 Mycroft actually reached over and patted his arm.  “I’m sorry, John.  It’s necessary.  But we’re going to the opposite side and Sherlock’s stone has been removed.”

 “I don’t care.  Now I see why you kidnapped me.  You knew I’d never come willingly.”

 “Please, John.  It’s important to me that you understand.”

 The car rounded a curve and a small hill blocked John’s view of the cemetery entrance and the path to Sherlock’s grave.  He found it easier to relax but it still took an effort to control his breathing.

 The car pulled to a stop and the driver got out and opened Mycroft’s door.  John didn’t wait; he opened his own door and got out.  Mycroft almost seemed to have forgotten John.  He headed for a small granite headstone.  He put his hand on the stone and bowed his head.

 John joined him – close enough for support but far enough away to give him privacy.  The stone read:

 

Beloved

Dorothy Berry

January 17, 1928 – October 10, 1978

Rest in Peace

 

John had no idea how long they stood there.  Whoever Dorothy was, she was clearly important to Mycroft.  But she died 3 months before Sherlock was born.  Maybe Sherlock didn’t know about her.  Something was odd about her headstone.  He looked at others and back at Dorothy’s.  That was it. The rest all said “Beloved wife, husband, father, etc.”  Dorothy’s headstone made her seem complete – not defined by her relationship to anyone else. He wondered who chose the wording and why.

 Mycroft finally straightened.  He raised his hand to his face and John quickly looked away across the grass to the river.  He didn’t know if he could handle watching Mycroft Holmes brush away tears.

 Mycroft turned to him.  “You know Mummy gave up her professorship once she had children.  But that happened when she was carrying Sherlock. Before that, she didn’t need to, because we had Mrs. Berry.”

 John couldn’t help but glance around for a matching headstone. Of course, Mycroft knew what he was thinking. “Don’t look for Mr. Berry.  It’s best if he’s forgotten.  I never knew him, of course, but what I could find out from the records was bad enough. But Mrs. Berry was the most loving person I ever knew.”

 “What happened?” John asked. “She was so young.”

 “Ovarian cancer,” Mycroft replied.  “From the time I noticed symptoms until she was dead was just over 5 weeks.”

 “You diagnosed her? You were what, seven?”

“I didn’t diagnose her, John.  I was a child.  I noticed her symptoms and pointed them out.  Fortunately, Mummy and Daddy listened to sensible children and took her to the doctor.  They admitted her straight to the hospital.  I only saw her once more.”

 “I’m sorry,” John whispered.  For the first time, he could actually picture Mycroft as a child, bereft, alone, and probably wondering if he’d caused the disappearance of his beloved Mrs. Berry.

 “Yes, Daddy snuck me into the hospital in the middle of the night to say good-bye,” Mycroft continued.  It wasn’t really clear at this point whether he remembered John was there or if he was telling the story to himself.  John’s admiration for his father-in-law jumped from “saintly patience” to “godly understanding.”

 “She didn’t look like herself except her eyes.  Her eyes still loved me.  She told me to take care of my little brother or sister the way she took care of me.”

 Suddenly, Mycroft looked John straight in the eye.  “I tried, John, I really did.  But I couldn’t. I didn’t have her gift for knowing what needed to be said. God help me, I’m the one who taught him how to lock his feelings away because I thought I was helping.”

 John blinked.  He could almost hear again, “I worry about him. Constantly.” and “We have what you might call a ... difficult relationship.”  He had no idea what to say.

 Mycroft smiled.  “Don’t worry, John.  I haven’t brought you here to weep over my failures.  I brought you here to thank you for your success.”

 “My… what, now?”

 Mycroft chuckled, a little sadly. “John, I have worried about Sherlock since before he was born.  But since your marriage, I don’t.  He’s still infuriating and careless about his safety, but his heart is at peace.  And the precautions he wouldn’t take for himself, he will for you.  Did you know, we’ve downgraded your security status to protective only?”

 “You, wait, really? But what about all those cameras Sherlock keeps smashing?”

 “Oh, I still sneak in the occasional camera to keep him sharp. But they aren’t transmitting.  So, John Hamish Watson, from the bottom of my heart, Thank You.  You saved my brother when I couldn’t.”

 “I don’t know what to say, Mycroft.  Sherlock saved me.  Do you remember what I was like that first night?  And after Mary?”

 “Maybe that’s the only way it could work – for both of you to save the other.  But however it works, you have my eternal gratitude.  Which probably won’t be quite as useful as it once was since I’m retiring next week.”

 “You’re what?”  John should be used to the Holmes brothers by now, but this conversation was getting away from him.  “I didn’t think super secret spies could retire.”

 “John, really.  I occupy a minor post in the British government.  Minor bureaucrats retire all the time.  The tea ladies are planning a special spread.  I’m sure I shall blush.  The woman you know as Anthea is more than qualified to take my place.  I may consult on occasion, but the government won’t miss me at all.”

 John stared at Mycroft.  Mycroft _was_ his job.  “But what will you do?”

 Mycroft grinned.  He had a nice grin, John noticed.  Why hadn't he seen it before? 

“I have no idea, John.  But won’t it be fun finding out?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to give credit to Ariane DeVere whose transcripts of the BBC show Sherlock are invaluable. The transcript I used for this chapter is at http://arianedevere.livejournal.com/43298.html 
> 
> Thanks also to astudyinrose who encouraged me to write this. I can only hope my fics will be as good as hers some day.
> 
> I don't generally like angst, but this was amazingly enlightening to write. I tend not to remember childhood much but apparently sometimes it's helpful.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this. Kudos, comments, and criticisms are welcome. 
> 
> As always, not beta-ed and not brit-picked so any suggestions are appreciated.

**Author's Note:**

> That's all, folks!


End file.
